I don't remember you
by MichaellaD
Summary: What if Lisbon had meant it when she told Jane "It's too late"? What if she had stayed on the plane? What would Jane have done then? (Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist.)


The nurse was outside measuring out various pills when she noticed a short, dark-haired woman walking towards her. She seemed nervous, overcompensating for this by standing at ramrod attention and consequently looking like someone had dropped an icecube down her back.

"Hello," said the nurse suspiciously, relaxing when she spotted the visitor's tag.

"Hi," the woman replied. "I'm here to see..." She twitched her finger in the direction of one of the nearby doors, as if the visit were a shameful thing.

The nurse unbent slightly. "He's one of our best patients," she said conversationally, gesturing to the half-open door. "Always follows the rules, always ready to help."

The woman winced. "Can I see him now?"

The nurse nodded. She opened the door to the room and leaned in. "Visitor for you!" she announced.

The man she was addressing, a blond-haired man who had once been handsome, peered up curiously at his visitor.

"Hey," she said uneasily, stepping inside.

The man cocked his head to the side. "Hello." He waited patiently.

"It's me."

The man looked resigned. "I don't remember you." He smiled at her vapidly, a silly, lopsided thing that looked like it was pinned up by tacks. The sight of it seemed to further rattle the woman, who went over to sit in the only available chair.

"It's _me-_" She broke off. "I'm really sorry. You know that, right?"

The man looked worried. "Sorry about what?"

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come... I - I feel so guilty. I just - I hurt you so badly. And it was all my fault."

The man still sat silently, bewilderment on every feature. The woman grew more agitated.

"I'm so sorry I left, I left you, I left _us_... And I've felt so bad for so long. I don't know what I was thinking, you didn't deserve that..."

A spark of intelligence sprang into the man's eyes, and he leaned forward. "You're saying I loved you?"

Bright hope sprang into the woman's eyes. "Yes, yes. You told a whole planeful of people that you couldn't live without me and I - I wouldn't believe you." The woman commenced twisting the hem of her top.

The man slumped dully. "I don't see how that could be. I don't remember loving you. You could talk to my doctor," said the man obligingly. "He might be able to help you. He comes at two every day."

The woman's hands stilled, frozen in time. Then, almost as if it were an action beyond her strength, they reached out and clasped his. "Please." It was barely a whisper.

He looked at her for the first time. "Your eyes..." he said, in the manner of a child figuring out a difficult problem. "They do seem familiar."

The woman's mouth began to turn up shyly.

The man's gaze grew sharper. "Your smile does funny things to me - right here." He stabbed his chest with his forefinger several times. For a moment his own smile evened out and brightened, but then his chin dropped and his eyes resumed their dull sheen. "You must look like someone I knew once." He withdrew his hand and rubbed the skin on his empty left ring finger unconsciously.

The woman's eyes followed the movement, but as soon as they understood they closed in pain.

The man frowned, looking at the wall. "I don't remember how I got here. Everyone is so strange."

The woman settled herself more securely in her chair. "Once I left, you fell apart. You stopped coming to work, said there was no point. You started drinking..." The woman's eyes were now full of past and present pain as they looked at the man pleadingly. "Then one night you drank yourself insane. You were found running down the highway, screaming out my name..."

The man shifted, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably, hitching sideways on his bed. "That doesn't sound like something I would do."

"Well, you'd loved me-"

"No!" The sudden volume echoed around the room. The man continued, his voice back to its normal singsong tone. "I don't remember loving you. I absolutely, positively know that can't be true." His eyes rolled cheerfully at her. The woman shuddered. "But I could take your name." The man stood up and carefully selected a purple crayon from the pencil holder on his night table. "I might meet the man you knew and then I could tell him you're looking for him." He looked back at the woman, his face open and cheerful.

The woman stood up. "No, that's all right. If you do see him, just tell him one thing."

The man nodded eagerly, that hideous nailed-to-the-mast smile once again affixed upon his face.

The woman dropped her eyes and half turned away, ready to leave the small white room. "I loved him too."


End file.
